


Let the Sunshine Burn Your Eyes

by YogurtTime



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Dom!Shane, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Liquor play, M/M, Mentions of assassination, Powerplay, Ricky Goldsworth AU, Set in an undetermined time, mentions of military, really graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/YogurtTime
Summary: An innocent man of taste and leisure, Ricky Goldsworth, just wants to check into his hotel room, but gets into an altercation with the concierge while a mysterious gentleman in expensive-looking clothes watches nearby.





	Let the Sunshine Burn Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on a spur of the moment in a surprising and sudden block from finishing my other fic. This helped a lot and I'm ready to start plugging back in. 
> 
> Inspired by that one image of Ryan in the purple pimp hat and feather boa and someone saying that's probably what Ricky Goldsworth really looks like. The image stuck with me and I can't stop thinking of him as this fancy boy trying to live beyond his means, demanding more than he's liable to get and it brought me here. The sex is inspired by a fic I wrote back in 2012 for a different fandom altogether (probably like 9 people read it anyway).
> 
> Title inspired by the song A Second Opinion by Murder by Death which is basically the mood of this fic from Shane's perspective when he first spots Ricky.

 

 

 

 

The gentleman approached Ricky when he was hot.

And he was hot. Angry, to be fair. Yeah, so it wasn’t his hotel room, and it wasn’t his credit card that booked it. People liked to ask questions when he was out in the city trying to enjoy a few nice things that didn’t come from his own pocket.

Ricky just wanted to check in, unwind in a decanter of champagne before he’d hit the clubs.

The nightlife in the Hamptons promised lots of people who liked pretty men to spend on.

“If you could just answer a few questions--”

“What’s the fuckin’ hold up?” he snapped, leaning over the marble desk with one ringed hand planted firmly over the Concierge’s paperwork; an affected mannerism he’d picked up from bar lounges in Boston. He was wearing an Italian suit ( _Loro Piana_ ), a Cartier wristwatch and a tie-pin worth more than the Concierge’s salary. Gifts from a trust-fund boy back home. One of many anyway.

“Sir, I’m afraid that I just don’t feel confident handing over the key to one of our deluxe suites when you’ve supplied no identification--”

He could feel the judgement in the tone, the snobbish disbelief, like the diamond in Ricky’s ear was a discarded stone. He was burning around the collar, a flush crawling up his neck, but this was hardly his first rodeo. “I’m trying to check into my room and you’re giving me a goddamn inquisition. What’s the big idea?”

People liked to laud the 1%-ers of the world as having their own special, elevated form of etiquette but the truth was that their fingertips were meant to be dripping with so much wealth that rude gestures looked like the tango if you were vicious enough.

He jabbed the concierge in the chest. Pushed him away a little.

“Sir, I apologise--I didn’t mean to offend--”

He put teeth in his words, practically snarling like he had the power to buy the hotel, buy it and burn it. “All I care about is that my room is ready and I’m not gonna have to deal with anymore hassle.”

“Of course! Of course, Mr. Goldsworth. Here’s your key. Please enjoy your stay and _please_ take this certificate for a drink on the house in the lounge of your choosing.”

The gentleman was standing by the stairway, caught him by surprise with his unapologetic eye contact. Ricky sized him up as he passed, openly, took in his sheer height, the curve of his mouth--twisted in a mean, soft smile. An expression like he’d watched the whole exchange and found it all very entertaining. Ricky took in the sight of his clothes; the fine line fit of a bespoke suit, probably from Britain if Ricky knew a Desmond Merrion at a glance. He could have been any guy, could have been some deadbeat gigolo with an eye for men that looked like Ricky, but experience made it so the taste of money bridged the tip of Ricky’s tongue when he brushed past him; tasted like metal in his throat, like blood.

Well, damn.

“Used to getting what you want, aren’t you?”

Ricky was half way up the steps already, but he twisted around to offer an indulgent look at the guy. Sure, let him look; he hadn’t decided on this cut of his trousers just to shy away from lingering stares. The gentleman had an arm draped over the bottom of the banister; he looked a polite questioning up at Ricky like he might have just asked about the weather.

“Maybe,” he offered. “That is, if someone _has_ what I want.”

Nothing wrong with laying down a trapline early. He looked young; maybe he was a CFO. He looked a little nerdy in those bright silver-framed glasses, but he actually had the audacity to be running a thumb along the tip of a white gold-topped cane. Old money?

The gentleman was cool as a cucumber, took his damn time walking up the stairs toward Ricky, seemed to even wait as Ricky took in the little details about him, as if it were expected. Usually Ricky could get a quick fluster out of the young ones when he made it clear he knew everything they could offer.

“And just,” he said at last, reaching a step just below Ricky but still managing to meet him eye to eye; he made a point of stretching a long arm out, grabbing the balustrade behind Ricky, getting right in his breathing bubble. “Just what is it you want though?”

Ricky liked his voice, liked the bite in it, cadent and sing-song like he was constantly on the verge of a joke only he’d understand. It made Ricky smile; something he only really did when he needed the charm of it to work its magic.

“ _Everything_ ,” he told him.

The lobby seemed to filter out around them, and Ricky liked when the games sometimes stopped and one like this came along. With narrow laughing eyes and a grin that held the cynicism of a someone who’d seen enough of the world, enough of its secrets and didn’t think there was much danger out there for him, Ricky decided he was gonna let this one spoil him _rotten_.

 

“Let me guess, champagne?”

So much for practically climbing down a concierge’s throat to get into his own room when he _would_ just end up walking into another man’s.

“Hmm, you know what I’m about,” Ricky replied archly, watching him draw in, shake off his gorgeous suit jacket and cross fold it neatly over the back of a chaise-longue. He cut a great figure walking away from Ricky, sharp lean lines through a silk shirt and yeah, that was definitely a bespoke inseam...

Of course Ricky would come up to this stranger’s room. It was the penthouse after all and much larger than the deluxe suite, which he’d only ever seen photos of.

“So what’s a stacked son of a bitch like you doing milling in the lobby of a hotel at night?” he quipped softly, watching him pour two tall flutes of Grande Cuvée with a practiced, steady hand.

His stranger was silent, merely quirked an eyebrow as he picked up both glasses by their base, taking four long strides back over to Ricky to hand him his. Ricky reached out to take it, but his fingers grasped at nothing as the flute was held just-so out of reach by a hair. Ricky blinked.

“You’ll call me Shane,” the offending culprit said. No tone to it; not quite an order, but just enough of a statement that it brokered no questioning.

Ricky squinted. This was...new? “Of course. _Shane_ ,” he said, testing it out, enunciating it so it would sound strange, almost silly as he quickly took the glass from Shane, who offered it willingly this time. Ricky put his lips to the rim of the glass with a smile.

“And what does this Mr. _Goldsworth_ call himself?”

Ricky swallowed a smooth mouthful. Alarmed at how sweet and sharp the taste was. Brand name delicious. “Ricky,” he breathed off a sigh. “ _Ricky_ Goldsworth.”

Shane only sipped his champagne, smiled that special sardonicism. “All the names in the world and you went with that.”

Ricky couldn’t taste the champagne much anymore on that last note. He dropped his gaze, feeling a very rare untouched part of himself--deep, deep in some recess he’d forgotten about--go a bit cold with fear.

Feeling oddly exposed and happy to let Shane return to the bottle for a refill, he looked around the room distractedly. His eyes fell on a hat rack. A black visor hat with its silver foreign insignia hung there right over a medal-decorated long coat. The buttons of it were round, intricately patterned, and painted brass lining the lapels down to the floor. A red sash was slung over the entire ensemble and the cuffs were lined with silver ribbon, but the stiff expensive wool was a deep black.

Ricky knew the look of it; had heard stories of riots in Eastern Europe and the resistance on fire, castles burning, and a Royal family broken up and killed one by one, knew the urban legends about a Prince gone into hiding, and the symbolism of their Royal military still operating in secret to reinstate the Empire.

Shane came up from behind, handing Ricky another glass. “I used to wear that often, during the golden days when my father’s Empire awarded honour rather than murder.”

Ricky tipped his glass up for a sip. He was a little stunned. He was standing alone in a room with royalty? “You’re really brash to let me see this. I could be a spy,” he added slyly. “An assassin come to take you down, Little Prince.”

Shane made a noncommittal sound. “It looks better _on_ ,” he muttered. Ricky started when Shane reached up and took the hat by the visor and rested it on Ricky’s head. “And I’m no Prince.”

The back of it was too wide so it slipped down and Ricky had to push it with the back of his hand. He looked up with bemusement and caught a steady, caloric studying look, mouth curved down; it was just a brief second and Ricky wasn’t sure why he felt suddenly pleased.

“Want me to put the jacket on too?” he asked engagingly, hiding his smile with his glass.

Shane took a deliberate step back, as if clearing space around Ricky. He downed his champagne in one sudden gulp and his eyes were narrow when he resurfaced. “If you like,” he replied a little mutely.

Ricky downed his glass as well, setting it on the nightstand before reaching for the long coat; stretching up on tiptoes, he lifted it off the gold hooks, alarmed by how heavy it was. The sharp medals swinging and the clinking of brass bars was the only sound in the room next to the shift of fabric. Ricky ran his fingers over the neat, silver epaulette tassels.

“Those clothes. What you’re wearing doesn’t suit the colour.” Shane said tonelessly. “You’ll ruin the wool.”

Ricky paused. “Should I take them…off?” He hung the heavy coat over his arm and reached for the top button on his shirt questioningly.

Shane turned, seemed to be completely unmoved as he went to pour another glass, the bottle held quite steadily in his hand. “Might be best,” he stated, still with that effortless monotone.

Ricky watched him as he unbuttoned his own shirt. He hadn’t any complaints though and the heavy wool felt good on his bare skin. His suit trousers dropped first and Shane brought the bottle with him, resting it on the nightstand, silently sitting on the edge of the bed; an unflappable audience drinking his champagne.

Once his shirt fell to the floor, Ricky swung the coat around his shoulders, pushing his hands through. His fingers barely made it out as the starched cuffs slid up against the middle of his palms and the coat itself swung low around his bare calves. He snapped the buttons closed as they overlapped to the shoulder. Smiling, he straightened the hat and gave a little mock salute.

“Do the belt up,” Shane said; it still sounded like a suggestion, but the ardent stare Ricky gazed back at indicated an imperative.

Ricky wasn’t used to making it this easy, but he obeyed, taking the thick leather straps and winding one through the heavy buckle, until the taper of it hugged tightly against his waist. Then he was set and Shane leaned back, giving him a good survey: obdurate, but soft; a heavy-lidded, sultry stare.

“Well?” Ricky asked, lifting his arms in a quick, meaningless gesture and letting them fall back to his sides.

Shane tilted his head back, finishing off another mouthful of champagne. He still seemed so composed, and over the dark, deep colour of his suit jacket, his skin seemed to take on a sand-ivory tone. He poured once more, holding out the glass to Ricky who shook his hand free of his sleeve to reach for it. The first two glasses had made him feel warm but that next swallow put him right on a careful cusp of numb.

Just as he lifted the glass to his lips again, Shane got to his feet, closing a nearly nonexistent distance between them with the stretch of his arm. He reached up and swept a hand over the lapel, brushing at invisible dust. Ricky peeked up at him from under the visor of the hat and Shane’s hand went still. “Perfect,” he said in delayed reply to Ricky’s evaluation. The hat tipped up when Ricky took another swallow of champagne, eyes scrunching shut then as the burn shimmered up his throat, cloying into his senses, mouth nicely warm and tingly.

Shane closed his hand over the glass, covering the back of Ricky’s hand with a surprisingly hot fingered touch, pried the glass from Ricky’s hand. They hadn’t been this close since the moment in the lobby what seems ages ago and Shane seemed to be off in a thought, merely a strange gaze from a mind locked tight.

From somewhere far, outside the cloister of Ricky’s wondering stare and Shane’s fingers falling away from him, the base of the cup hit the nightstand, a deep, crystal clank that sounded conclusive.

Ricky felt little thrills when Shane made as though to even out the shoulders of it, pulling curtly on the epaulettes, but then his palms trail down, down his arms, curving in on Ricky’s biceps, cleaving the wool to Ricky’s naked arm.

He squeezed just around the crook of Ricky’s arm and Ricky couldn’t look away from the alarmingly studious, expert-like expression on Shane’s face. The only thing that seemed to belie him was the unexpected, practically adulating tremble of his long piano fingers when they reached the decorated front pockets. Thumbs pressed grazing material to Ricky’s chest, pressuring sensitivity in the direct contact and he made a soft sound without thinking.

Shane’s dark serious eyes flickered up to meet his and the silver glint of his glasses with its very sharp glare of frame and darker metal created a vibrant humanity in contrast.

“How does it feel?” Shane asked, smiling faintly, sliding down and patting him firmly around his hips, near the belt.

Ricky wasn’t sure which sensation he was speaking for. Still, his voice didn’t seem to work when he meant to reply. He nodded, not breaking eye contact.

Shane tugged on the belt, yanking Ricky right against his chest and his arms came around, snaking around Ricky’s torso, raking palms of pressure along his spine. “It’s a tapered cut,” Shane informed him, jaw against Ricky’s cheek. “Just making sure it’s snug in the back.”

“Right,” Ricky said, in a quaking tone.

Fingers dipped low and the silk brush of Shane’s hair grazed Ricky’s throat. He swallowed, trying to breathe shallowly, knowing the beats in his chest were thundering up as the supposedly studying touch was lingering into caresses. Even the fact that Shane’s breaths remained steady and slow while he reached up and gripped him around the hips maddened Ricky. He was a whole head and half taller and variably slimmer than Ricky but he aligned them neatly and his jaw came up against Ricky’s collar bone and Ricky shuddered, hesitantly lifting his hands to brace himself gripping the loops of Shane’s belt.

“Honestly, Goldsworth,” Shane murmured with mock exasperation. “Grabbing people like that, you’ll give them the wrong idea.”

Ricky leaned back, outraged. “You were just—“ Ricky broke off as he caught how Shane’s mouth turned up in a smile not unlike a leer. He twisted his fingers into Shane’s shirt with some frustration.

This brought Shane to tilt his head, nuzzling up Ricky’s throat to hover right over Ricky’s mouth and in all the dizzying buzz of the champagne and the spicy scent of Shane’s breath, Ricky was incredulous. He squirmed a little when Shane’s fingers glided along the belt, grasping at the small of Ricky’s back so their hips crushed together and Ricky’s legs were dug apart by a wool blend-covered thigh. “You’re horribly unseemly,” Shane whispered at him.

“I’m unseemly?!” Ricky snapped, highly aware of Shane’s lips just over his, not touching, only near enough that each breath wa a new furor of heat. “Fucker, I know you’re trying to get in my pants—well, your coat...” He hesitated, swallowing, not daring to lean closer or away.

“You can’t be calling me names,” Shane whispered and Ricky tasted the words, tasted how much he wanted more. What was happening to him?

He felt the softness of Shane through his shirt, through the raze of his knuckles through fabric and he gripped harder, shutting his eyes and offering a plaintive sound. Why couldn’t he just get on with it?

“What do you want?” Shane breathed laughingly, still holding him still, not moving. “You’re so greedy, but you’re not asking me.”

“Asshole, what kind of game are you playin’?” He didn’t know when his voice left nor when he began whispering as low as Shane. It made the venom in his words seem like honey; he could hear it and see it in the way Shane’s wide hands spanned his lower back, crushed him in harder and Ricky felt nothing but heat. “God, but I want…”

Shane ducked down a little, his nose brushing Ricky’s throat, promising more contact he didn’t know how to stop wanting. “Say it, Ricky. _Tell me you want everything again_.”

An erotic chill trickled through Ricky’s spine at that, made him hard just thinking of the threat in it, the mocking lilt coming out of Shane’s mouth as he ordered it out of him.

“Mm. Yes. I want it. Want everything. Please...just…”

It felt naked coming out of him and Ricky had never felt more defeated in such quick seconds and worse still, he loved it.

Shane’s laugh was soft, a button-press of heat. “Well, if you’re going to beg like that…” He angled Ricky’s head up and pressed his lips to the lined edge of Ricky’s bottom lip very lightly, the hold of his hand against Ricky’s jaw kept Ricky from moving in. He could only remember to breathe and close his eyes.

“I’ll really kill you,” he said, unable to hold off the whine in his tone. “I’ll end you right here.”

Another kiss, this time to Ricky’s upper lip; he did it briefly, teasingly. “Don’t be absurd,” he replied shortly. “Now open your mouth.”

When Ricky obeyed, Shane engulfed him, threading fingers into his hair, and licking right up against Ricky’s tongue. Ricky reached up, properly clinging to Shane, hand fisted into the back of his shirt. He tasted entirely like the burn of champagne; he invaded every single sense, soft skin and confident, insistent fingers digging under the leather of the coat’s belt, pushing the fabric over more sensitive spaces of Ricky’s naked skin.

Shane’s touches roved upward. He angled Ricky lips up again to deepen the impression of his tongue, lapping quickly, tasting just along the curve of Ricky’s. Fingertips from the groove of his nape to the lapels of the coat and fingers slipping right under the fabric so that Ricky leaned into thrills, pressing closer until his mind started to swim.

It was just a kiss, _really_. Ricky tried to inject logic to calm every nerve on him racing to be first in line. Just a kiss, of course, but it was in the whole-hearted systematic way Shane’s light brushes were making a mess of him that even the single act of Ricky himself pushing hands up the hem of Shane’s shirt made him utter a weak, wondering noise. It was the feel of tender skin mingled with the harsh devour of Shane’s mouth, open mouth over his. Ricky was wrapped around him, trying to climb him within minutes.

Shane broke away, releasing him. “Lie down,” he ordered.

Ricky sat on the edge of the bed, scooted back against the headboard, and rested his arms on the covered dark mahogany quilted pillows. He raised his head to watch from under the hat visor while Shane went to pick up the bottle again. Barely looking up, Shane filled one of the glasses half-way up and then glass in hand, crawled on his knees to settle on the mattress. Ricky curled and spreads his legs to make room for Shane, head falling back on the headboard when Shane closed his lips over his.

“What are you doing with that?” Ricky queried, nodding at the glass in Shane’s hand.

He got a genial look quite different from the others before when Shane reached for the belt, unlacing it and letting the leather bend the fabric back and Ricky squirmed a bit when the cooler air hit. Shane held the glass up and shuffled back, pushing at Ricky’s naked thighs to spread properly as the coat opened.

This was dumb. He usually made them wait; he’d usually tease and tease, let them imagine him in all sorts of ways as they dished out the gifts, trips to Toulouse, gift baskets with contents he could sell, and blank cheques to keep his corner apartment in the city’s rent paid. Sometimes he wouldn’t even have to put out unless he wanted to, and that was the glamour of it, compliments and staggering stares of awe. Being loved like he was some secret idol, but this was something entirely different. To be drowning in this mysterious man’s priceless coat, hot under his kisses and wanting only that for the moment was madness.

Shane removed his spectacles but kept a studying stare gliding up from Ricky’s hips to his thrumming chest. His narrow eyes seemed rimmed with long lashes from Ricky’s vantage point; it made Ricky flush, this constant now naked unapologetic stare

The heels of Ricky’s feet dug into the mattress when Shane knelt properly between his legs and bent to kiss the space between his clavicles. When he slipped downward, nipping and mouthing along deepened lines, Ricky arched up involuntarily, inching deeper into the coverlet and pillows. He sunk down until he was flat on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling blankly while Shane continued further down him. Burning feathers of breath wandered and flooded over his chest when Shane hovered over his left pectoral, tongue darting out so each glance of wet was hyper sensitive.

His skin was already seething and his veins seemed to be blistering when Shane’s palm rested flat on his hip bone, edging around and down, ignoring the fact that he was already hard. For all Ricky’s hitched breaths and already voiced half-protests, he was mortified but unable to quit literally wailing when suddenly there was the surprisingly striking contact of cool glass touching him. Ricky looked down to where most of what he could see was the top of Shane’s head but he watched the round edge of the glass’s base rut along his hip to dig into his stomach, pressing near his navel as Shane’s mouth sucked a meaningful hot pattern after it.

He started to speak but it was like a breathless, moaning half-statement when the base of the glass circled toward his navel and Shane followed it with his tongue. Looming over Ricky, one hand pressing a bruising hold on the side of his ribs and the other curled around that glass, he made his way to each individual nipple, sinking dull ridges against his skin.

Ricky reached out, pushing his fingers into Shane’s thick brown hair as his still clothed-thighs nudged Ricky’s thighs up, pushing them closer together to the point that the texture of his shirt grazed over the head of Ricky’s dick. That jump-started Ricky and he fell back, grabbed at the pillows in a debilitated state, so Shane raised his head and looked at him. His lips were pink and there was a razoring hunger, hooded-eyed sweetness in his stare before he dropped another kiss, pursing lips over parts of skin.

The spill of liquid was sudden and Ricky should’ve been expecting it but he still writhed at how cold it was after the rash warmth of Shane’s skin. The precision, the way Shane tipped the glass and droplets of champagne splashed right in the center between his pectorals, running down, single, long droplets and Ricky shivered, screwing his eyes shut.

“Try to keep still, Ricky,” he said, voice low and raked thin with lust. “If you get champagne on my coat, I’ll be very upset.”

Ricky curled his fingers over the corners of the pillows and mewled unhappily. He’d tell him not to be pouring champagne on people but the cling of it on his skin and the uncharacteristically breathless way Shane licked over his abdomen, making a low, cadent sound--lips grazing over ---as he swallowed. Then came the glass again, the rim of it tilted to lower just over Ricky’s navel and the once more shudder-weakening cool drops fell, spread and glisten.

“Very good,” Shane whispered just over a near-straying droplet, going to spill over the side of Ricky’s waist. “Not a drop spilt so far.” Ricky’s muscles were trembling from a strain he was not sure the source of. He felt positively drenched despite it all occurring around his stomach and hips.

Another careful and precise tip of the glass but this time even lower and the drops slid down the curve of his lower belly, went downward to the dip in his pelvic region. Ricky barely managed a noise that wasn’t crazed vowels before Shane mouthed over where the drink had pooled in a groove over his navel, lapping it up with a low growl, going lower with the stray droplets, only pausing to exhale after each swallow.

“Oh fuck _me_ ,” Ricky hissed when Shane’s wet, champagne drenched tongue swirled toward his dick. Shane only edged around it, full lips pressed but didn’t part and Ricky couldn’t move an inch in case the champagne spilt. Some part of him was distantly aware that he’d adjusted to the conditions too easily, immobilised by the little threads of alcohol dripping down his body and he wished Shane would just _deal_ with them.

Shane kissed over droplets again, ones lower, dragged the edges of the glass down his side-- cold so cold!—until it connected with his thigh. When Ricky opened his eyes, Shane was looking down at him, smiling, stare glazed and a very odd type of smug just in that moment he pulled Ricky’s thigh over his and poured a cool, wet splash of it right into the crook of Ricky’s bent thigh and it spilled downward too quick and too sudden where the heat was most. Ricky couldn’t help his spine arching so his hips twisted upward, trying to escape from the touch of droplets and absorb them all at once.

Then Shane’s tongue was on him again, but this time leading from that sensitive stretch of skin curled under his hipbone to the very base of his dick. Shane lingered artfully, hot drunken breaths over the slight, attenuating line down the center of his scrotum. Ricky was saying things, he didn’t know what, but his voiceless gasps made his already alcohol-warm throat feel raw. The hot spaces where Shane licked and abandoned felt cold again and Ricky writhed helplessly.

It was certainly new, but he wouldn’t ask for it any different. When he closed his eyes again, it was as Shane’s mouth grazed up the underside of his dick, like a thin, silk scrape over pulsing veins. He paused just at the head, lips smearing into pre-ejaculate the way he’d crushed champagne droplets with his tongue and lips.

Ricky sat up on his arms to watch, gasps for breath coming up from him in pained desperation; the hat tottered forward and slipped down as Ricky shifted fretfully. Shane pulled away then and Ricky sobbed, pushing the hat back and looking over toward Shane sitting up and slipping off the bed.

“Where you going?” he entreated mournfully.

“Wait there,” Shane said roughly, no mistaking the order in it then. He set the glass on the nightstand and moved to rifle in the drawer beneath it. As he produced a smaller bottle, he rolled up the right sleeve of his silk shirt, unbuttoning one cuff carefully as he came to kneel on the bed again. He pushed the sleeve up to his forearm while he waited silently for Ricky to lie backward on the bed again.

Just before settling between Ricky’s legs again, Shane reached up and adjusted the hat. “It really looks good on you,” is all he said and Ricky had no clue how to respond to that.

It ceased to matter anyhow when the clear priority for Ricky came in the form of Shane bending his thighs back with hot palms, and licking up the side of his dick. The cresting flood of heat had Ricky falling back in the pillows, grabbing for the headboard again, nonsense forgotten for the second Shane opened his mouth over the head, bringing Ricky deep into his mouth.

It seemed a sizzling blend, the taunting inside of Shane’s mouth and his fingers raking trails up the backs of his thighs. Ricky felt so overcome and unguarded, he arched back and covered his eyes with the sleeves of the coat, soon swimming in black sucking heat.

Shane curved his large hands downward, cupped all of Ricky’s ass and hiked him upward and took him in, lips to the hilt, making a sharp, intent sound in his throat so Ricky felt it oscillate through him. He kept at that pattern, bringing Ricky’s hips up and practically slurping him in. The room seemed to go blank with buzzing breaths when Shane paused for air and Ricky muffled his pleading groans until the point that Shane let him go.

“No, god--fuck--you’re killing me--how can you…please, _Shane_.” Ricky scrambled at Shane’s fingers desperately at the loss of contact, but Shane firmly pressed him back.

He rose up, body flexing from being curved that long, visibly hard through his trousers. “Let’s get that off you,” he said, and Ricky barely registered; he was looking at Shane’s flushed lips and the way the hard, delicate curve of his throat was only just visible under the unbuttoned lapel of his shirt.

“Wha…” he mumbled blearily, pulling at Shane who obliged but began to push the coat off Ricky’s shoulders, delicious fingers now brushing down his naked arms. “What? Why?” he finally managed.

Shane’s mouth was hot over his, salt and toxin, acid release and Ricky drank him in deliriously. “I’m…” he bit Ricky’s lower lip, uttering a faint, low growl when Ricky arched against him, hard, winding his hips so he felt Shane’s erection drag a clothed promise up his ass. “I’m about to make a mess of you.”

Ricky struggled out of it and Shane pushed it off to the side, pressing himself against the inside of Ricky’s thigh, chafing soft expensive fabric up now screaming, sensitive skin. Ricky clutched him and grabbed at the buttons of Shane’s shirt, curving his leg around Shane’s waist and rocking upward hungrily, closing his lips over the newly bared skin of Shane’s hard chest.

He heard the sound of the bottle being uncapped, clink of metal on the cap and Shane’s fingers, slick and wet slipping between the dig of his length to Ricky’s perineum. Ricky was still a bit sensitive from nearly coming to pieces earlier and more hungry for it than he’d ever been so even Shane’s lube-coated fingers pressing tentatively on the tenuous skin around his rim had him gasping and digging fingers into Shane’s back. “Oh, dammit,” he hissed, writhing upward against Shane’s hand.

“Relax a little for me,” Shane murmured in his ear, voice low and heavy. “Ricky…”

Ricky gritted his teeth as Shane made that circle, cloying in with fingers pressed inward and down, satin couldn’t be softer but it still had him rigid and shaking. Shane reached up with his other hand and massaged the head of Ricky’s dick with his thumb, still rutting against him in a disjointed pattern. Ricky’s calf slipped up Shane’s shoulder when Shane coaxed the second finger in, making soothing sounds into Ricky’s hair as he scrambled, trying to adjust.

It took a couple shifts before it was a rash tickling contact deep in him, shocking and throttling all at once and Ricky rolled himself into the gliding thrust of Shane’s fingers. When their chests brushed, Ricky nipped up along Shane’s jaw before Shane turned and Ricky groaned against his lips at their next shift together. With Shane lapping into his mouth, Ricky pushed against his open shirt to cling at the taut skin of his back.

Ricky kept involuntarily leaning into thrusts and it was a struggle with the stretch and pull of Shane’s fingers. Ricky had to stretch and angle himself, but he got his hands on the buttons of Shane’s trousers. When he pushed them down, Shane’s legs slid up, pushing them off.

“Turn over,” Shane said. He kept hold of Ricky’s leg with still wet fingers, sliding up from the knee to calf and resting it on the crook of his arm while Ricky stretched on his side. Ricky braces his hand over Shane’s other arm under his head and stretched rigidly as Shane ran fingertips just around the coil of Ricky’s rim. He leaned over, pressing a thigh between Ricky’s spread legs.

His hand curled around Ricky’s fingers, bringing them down and gently coaxing over the head of his own dick. Ricky closed over and his head lolled back on Shane’s shoulder, uttering a faint gasp when Shane yanked his hips backward, slipping in, widening him again, breath coming in shallow. “Hold on,” he breathed into Ricky’s ear.

Ricky braced himself as Shane ground in slow; hot wash of breath on the side of his throat. Shane’s hold on his leg went tighter and Ricky made a soft releasing sound when Shane’s edging glide inside him began to take on a roll of thrusts, rocking into him hard with a steady twist, spreading him to pieces in quick seconds as he began to fuck him faster. Ricky could feel the lick of Shane’s dick in him, feel the head banking up against something delicate in him, a tickle like he could feel it in his abdomen. Ricky bit the pillow under him, hearing himself cry for it, wanting him to hit it again. Ricky’s other hand clenched at the pillow beneath him as he worked to keep Shane’s pace.

From something deep inside him spurring his outer nerves, he gasped out faint things like he was actually begging Shane for it harder and Shane’s resonating growls responded as his fingers dug hard grips, blunt nails bruising a hold on him, slamming them tight together until Ricky could only feel himself being wrecked inside out and moan, open-mouthed into the sheets under them.

Their grips tightened as Shane’s ragged panting quickened. Ricky’s own fist on himself felt like it was connected to the plunge of Shane inside him. From the angle he was at, Shane rocked inward and forced Ricky to grab the edge of the bed, nearly being pressed on his stomach. The head of his dick connected with the sheets as he squeezed, forced between grinding into his own fist and pressing deep in the mattress and meeting Shane’s unyielding thrusts.

For Ricky, he swore it was just good enough and he began to rock back in deeper impressions. The entire length of his body twisted as Shane’s wet palm slipped up the back of his knee. They both tightened and Shane pushed harder, muttering quick and sharp adulations—each like a different sort of ‘yes’--up against the bottom of Ricky’s earlobe. Ricky reached for the headboard, friction running up the silk slide of his dick and Shane curved in mercilessly until they were finally one single rocking form on the bed.

Ricky felt like he blacked out, for a quick instant, his insides becoming a forcible embalm while Shane splayed his fingers down the curve of Ricky’s ass. Groaning low, he pulled him back right in time to the rhythm of his shaking drives. It riveted up his middle until it was a blind shock, stark and a second’s eternity where his skin burst to life and momentum thrusted him into a gasping end. His hand shook, still wrapped around himself, splattered and sticky.

Shane drove in harder, dropping Ricky’s leg and pushing him on his back, tipping his chin toward him, and Ricky, still shuddering from aftershocks, opened his mouth for him again, utterly done in. He felt Shane come in him, felt the growl right into his mouth like some beast vicious and Ricky’s veins raced with electricity and violence. It lasted a second like that and Ricky’s head swam as he fell back, enclosed immediately in wiry, taut arms and starched sleeves.

Still spread-eagled with his legs wrapped around Shane, Ricky lapped up at Shane’s mouth, spent to the very edge. Shane leaned back and let Ricky stretch out on the pillows. Ricky knocked the hat back off his sweaty head a bit petulantly and Shane took it from him, setting it neatly on the opposite night table before sliding down into the bed beside Ricky.. “You’re kinda wild, you know,” Ricky said happily, his eyes heavier with each blink.

Shane didn’t reply but between their still slowing breaths and the still hardy pulse in Ricky’s ears, he saw Shane smile and it was sharp and lovely like a promised sunrise on a rainy day. Ricky watched him lazily.

“I’m thinking I want to keep you,” he told Shane, offhandedly, a little secret he can play like he didn’t share later. “Strictly for convenience of course. No one’s made me come like that…”

Shane’s eyebrows quirked up in a peculiar expression. “Imagine that,” he murmured, looking truths right into Ricky’s eyes. “Getting everything you want…”

“That’s how it is with me, baby,” he shot back, too spent to put any fire in it. “If I want a Prince, I get myself a Prince. I’m...very bad at being rejected.”

Shane propped his head on his fist, looking down at Ricky under a gorgeous set of mousy brown lashes. Ricky was going to make him stay if he had to. “There’s one problem with that, though, Goldsworth.”

Ricky was gonna fight him. “And what’s that?”

Shane’s reached up, one long finger dusting along the bridge of Ricky’s nose. “I’m not a Prince, I said,” he stated succinctly. “I’m here in America to negotiate with some secret service reps about the assassination of the rebellion leader. He’s dead and just an hour ago, I was declared King of my country.”

Ricky stared at him.

Shane laughed, rolling onto his back, arms under his head. “And my first decree as high supreme ruler of a free country is that Ricky Goldsworth of the Hamptons has to tell me his real name.”

Ricky hadn’t stopped staring, but he felt the smile, like that first one Shane had dragged out of him that odd initial moment in the lobby, creep up on him, new and real. What a bastard.

“Call me Ryan.”

 

 


End file.
